


Bluebird

by Brawness



Series: Peach blossoms [3]
Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-11-01 23:08:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20539019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brawness/pseuds/Brawness
Summary: Everyone bowed in the presence of the king. No one dared raise their eyes up to his. He was a step higher than everyone else, almost a deity.He had everything a man could ever want.Yet he had nothing.





	Bluebird

**Author's Note:**

> Minho’s story needed to be told.

_ "Won't you tell me your name?"  _

*

Everyone bowed in the presence of the king. No one dared raise their eyes up to his. He was a step higher than everyone else, almost a deity. 

He had everything a man could ever want. 

Yet he had nothing. 

*

It was the voice that caught his attention. Soft and gentle with a lilting accent, telling a story using puppets, behind a painted screen. 

It was a story about a brave general, winning countless battles, saving the capital from the enemy.

It was a story about him.

*

"By the troth of the old king, the one before your father, sire." The eunuch intoned. With a flick of his wrist he opened a scroll, stamped and sealed by the royal crest. "The crown prince is pledged to marry the eldest daughter of the house of Bae." 

There house of Bae had an unfortunate history. The head of the house along with his wife and children were set upon by rebels. They were all killed but the daughter survived. The house was now headed by the former's younger brother. 

Minho did not know of this until he was crowned king. His father did not get the chance to tell him, he died a year into his reign and Minho was out in the battlefields. 

He was impassive to the union, knowing early in life that some things were to be decided for him one way or another.

He made preparations to collect his betrothed himself. He did not trust anyone to do so, maybe aside from his closest friend and confidant, but Seunghoon has retired to his own household when the war was over and Minho was not willing to pull him away from the peace his friend craved. 

*

The head of the house made Minho's lip curl. Slimy, obsequious and manipulative. He hated him on sight. He needed to get his betrothed away from the man. 

"Take me to her."

*

Incomparable. 

That was what her beauty was like. Gentle yet blinding. 

The uncle wouldn't allow them to meet before the wedding. But what power does he have against the king? 

"My lady." Minho bowed to her as was her due. 

A king never bows to anyone. But Minho, the man, bowed to his betrothed. 

*

He courted her. 

Even when she was already his. Because she deserved it. Because she was worth it. 

It was worth seeing her big doe eyes light up whenever he entered the room, how she shyly averted her gaze when he caught her staring. 

Her soft laughter when her two cats played at her feet in the garden, stray cats that she took a liking to, made his chest tighten. 

All the battles he fought, the wounds he sustained, the people he lost… 

This was his solace. 

*

Her hand was trembling the first time she let him hold it. It was cool and soft. A maiden’s hand with delicate white fingers. Nails that were well kept and trimmed. It was a foil to his larger, darker hand, roughened by the years of fighting and weilding a sword. 

It felt breakable in his hold. He learned to cherish it. Savor the sweetness he felt when the pads of her fingers curiously traced his calluses, asking about the scars he sustained. 

He tried to soften the stories for her. Her ears shouldn’t be hearing sordid tales of war. But the way her eyes regarded him solemnly, her attention undivided as if all the time in the world stopped so she could listen to him— 

He told her about his men instead. His best friend, Seunghoon. His adjutant, Jihoon. His soldiers. 

Some of them with families now. Some of them lost. 

He told her this because he wanted them to be remembered. If at least one soul knew of their existence, then they will not be forgotten. 

If at least one person knew of General Song Minho as a man before he was a king, then maybe it wasn’t all worthless. 

If this one person, someone he was growing fond of by the day, knew him for what he was, a man who fought for his people— then maybe he could live with the blood he shed. 

*

The first time she said his name was the first time he felt her lips. 

He touched her petal soft mouth with his thumb, her eyes looking up from beneath her lashes.

“Say it again.” He whispered. 

They were away from chaperones, secluded by the curtains of a weeping willow. 

“Call me by my name.” 

Her cheeks turned rosy. Her innocence and purity a balm to his weary soul. Everything she did was endearing to him. 

“M-Minho.” Barely a breath. He took that to him, the sweetest sound he stored in his memory. 

He was rarely addressed by his first name. As a king, his name was never uttered as it was considered sacrilege. But he has given his betrothed leave to call him as such. The only person he had expressly given the right to. 

The only person to whom he gave his heart. 

*

He gave her a sash of the purest blue silk. A token. He wrapped it around her waist himself. A noble fabric that symbolized her. Pure and fine. Strong yet fragile. 

His lady was learned. He found out that she was educated with books of scholars. She was even well versed about battle tactics. It was not unusual for highborn noblewomen to know how to read and write, but it seemed that the education that was extended to his betrothed was somewhat similar to a nobleman’s. 

“My father wished me to learn…” She said hesitantly, lowering her eyes as if embarrassed, clutching the blue silk nervously between her fingers. 

He carefully touched her smallest finger, watching as her movements froze and then the digit wrapped shyly around his. Minho smiled. She welcomed his touches. It warmed him that she seemed to like it as much as he did. It delighted him when her dimples showed on her cheeks. A rare treat for she did not smile as much. 

“Joohyun.” Her name was as lovely as her face. He watched as her eyes darkened, slipping away from his, and withdrew her hand back into her sleeve. 

He felt the loss of her warmth keenly. Did he overstep his bounds? 

“My lady.” He started. 

She shook her head and smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “Forgive me, your majesty. I had a bit of a spell. We walked quite far from the gardens.” 

“Are you alright?” Immediately concerned, he looked her over. He shouldn’t have taken her so far. Her uncle told him she had a bad fall from a horse when she was younger and her legs weren’t quite right ever since. She tired easily and had a tendency to limp when she stood for too long. 

He took her hand to his elbow and gently steered her back to the hold, but a dip in the road caused her to stumble against him, her breath hissing in pain. 

Minho’s gut clenched. He bent and easily picked her up in his arms.

“Your highness, please—“ Her flustered words squeezed in between her wince of discomfort, protesting. 

“Hush. Let me do this for you.” He said firmly. The weight and feel of her was very pleasing to him, in light of the unpleasant circumstance that brought it about. “I should not have made you walk so far. It was very remiss of me. I ask for your forgiveness, my lady.” 

She was quiet the entire way back, the servants came rushing to them, fussing over her when he sat her on one of the chairs. She waved them away and they were alone again. 

“The wedding is in two days.” He remarked. 

“Yes.” Once again she looked away. 

“Are you opposed to it?” He never would have voiced the question and they had no choice in the matter either, but he needed to know if there was something he could do to make his future wife and queen amenable to their union. 

It was something of a consideration that he felt she deserved. 

“N-no. Your highness— what right do I—“ Her eyes widened, looking genuinely afraid and distraught. The shimmer of tears started to collect at her bottom lashes. Minho wanted to kick himself for distressing her. “Did I do something— forgive me, I meant no disrespect—“ Her words tumbled out of her mouth and a fine tremor started shaking her. 

Minho couldn't take it anymore. He drew her to him heedless of the servants that saw. He was the king. If he wanted to comfort his betrothed, who were they to gainsay him? 

“I understand. Do not fret.” He murmured against her silky hair. The jewelry twined in the strands chimed at the movement. “I just want to be certain that you are amenable to our marriage.” 

She stiffened and pulled away from him. “Your highness. My king. I cannot begin to comprehend the honor that you bestowed me.” She paused to take one of his hands between her own. Her cool soft touch made his heart quicken. Looking him directly, her eyes still wet, “I have always known that I shall one day marry a king.” 

“But I am glad that it’s you, Minho.” 

*

“Is there anything you would ask of me that I can give you?” Minho asked her the day before the wedding. 

She seemed to think long and hard. 

“My cats. Can we take them with us?” 

Minho was astonished. He could give her anything that she could ever want, yet her wish was so simple. 

“I understand if it is not alright. They’re just stray cats after all. The palace might not approve—“ She hid her hands. A habit he noticed she did when she was nervous. 

“You enchant me.” Minho said. Her limpid eyes regarded him, big and unsure. “You could have asked me for anything, yet you only ask for your pets. I could have given you land and riches. Built you another palace should you want it.” 

She cocked her head to the side. 

“Those cats were by my side when I was lonely.” 

Remembering his bride’s lonely childhood, Minho vowed to shower her and her cats all the happiness he could give them. 

*

It was done. The ceremony was brief. A mere formality. There will be a bigger celebration when they reach the capital. His people were anxious to welcome their new queen. 

He closed his eyes in contentment. His bride was hustled off to their temporary chamber. Minho will join her there in an hour or so to consummate their marriage. 

She was so beautiful, clothed in blue silk embroidered with gold. Her hair was crowned with elaborate headpieces made of gold and precious stones. He couldn’t wait to unravel it himself to see its true length. 

He did not expect that in the two weeks of courting a noblewoman he never knew, he would fall utterly and devastatingly in love.

Her hand when joined with his, were freezing and shook slightly. She was probably nervous. The blue silk reflecting on her skin made her seem paler than snow. 

He wanted to ease her, tell her that it will be alright and that he will take care of her forever. His bluebird. His.

A knock sounded on his door and his trusted guard entered upon his command. 

“Your highness, I have something of grave importance to tell you.”

*

Rage blistered his veins, scorching his lungs, engulfing his very being. The bitter tang of betrayal rose in his throat, he wanted to scream. 

The hallways narrowed in his vision until he reached the doors of the marital chamber. 

An older maidservant was just closing the door when she saw Minho bearing down towards hear. She fell to her knees and bowed, “Your majesty!’ 

“Leave!” He snapped. 

Minho whipped the door open, the wood sliding with a loud bang as he went through several antechambers until he finally reached the main one. 

His bride turned, face ghostly white, eyes huge and terrified. 

She knew. Or  _ he  _ knew. 

“Joohyun.” 

His bride flinched. 

Bile crept in Minho’s throat. “Or are you… Jinwoo?” 

The brother of who was supposed to be his bride, nodded. Joohyun was long dead. Killed with their parents. It was Jinwoo the entire time. It was Jinwoo he met. It was Jinwoo he courted. It was Jinwoo he married. 

It was Jinwoo who tricked him. 

Minho found his hand gripping the neck of Jinwoo’s ceremonial robes and ripped it open. He found the evidence of his betrayal there. The evidence of Minho’s heartbreak. 

Jinwoo cried out, his face red with mortification and shame as he scrambled to cover himself until his pale skin was haphazardly covered by the piles of silk that did not belong to him. 

Minho had nothing left but contempt. 

“Why?” Did he really want to know the reason? Will it ease the almost overwhelming pain that threatened to consume him? “Why did you do it?” 

Jinwoo shook his head once. Again. Short and jerky, his breaths audible. In Minho’s eyes, it was still the woman he loved. His lady. His queen. It enraged him that the sight of Jinwoo’s distress still had the power to unman him in spite of everything. 

“Minho—“

His vision darkened. The next thing he knew the back of his hand stung and Jinwoo was crumpled on the floor clutching his cheek. 

He looked down at him, heart calm, ice replacing his blood. 

“Never… use my name again.”

Without any trace of gentleness or consideration, he grabbed Jinwoo’s arm and harshly pulled him to his feet. The hair jewelry fell on the floor with metallic pings, as Jinwoo whimpered at the treatment. Minho took off the queen’s outer robe off him, leaving him shivering in only the white inner robes.

He marched Jinwoo to the dungeons himself, the other shuffling and struggling to keep up, his limping steps not even slowing Minho down. It was either keep up or be dragged. 

His most trusted men stood outside. They averted their eyes when they saw Minho dragging Jinwoo across the courtyard. 

He unceremoniously threw Jinwoo into a small holding cell. Jinwoo never regaining his footing, slammed against the wall and fell gracelessly to the floor. 

Minho couldn’t bear the pressure in his chest anymore. He shut the door, barred it and left. 

*

He only heard of stories about Minho. Tales of his bravery, how he led his men to victory. 

Minho was the man Jinwoo could have been had his family not been slain. Ironically, Minho would also have been his brother in law if his older sister was alive. 

The first time he saw Minho, he had this absurd feeling of jealousy of his dead sister. It was she who had the right to Minho. She was the one promised to him. Not Jinwoo. Never Jinwoo. 

He held himself as he shook. The rough stones dug into him, his entire body hurt. 

For most of his life, he knew that he would meet his end on his wedding night. By his own hand or his husband’s. He expected to die. He was resigned to it. What was there afterwards after all? It couldn’t be any worse that what he had. 

What he didn’t expect was Minho’s smile. His laugh. His boyish charm that he only showed Jinwoo. 

He didn’t expect to be treated with kindness. Gentleness. 

If Minho showed the same cruel malice as his uncle, or any hint that he was a bad person, Jinwoo would have killed him. The people at least needed a good king if Minho turned out to be a cruel one.

But Minho did not deserve that. Minho loved Jinwoo. 

No. 

Minho loved Joohyun. 

_ But it was I. It was I that he saw.  _

Minho did not like what he saw. It was foolish to even entertain the idea that Minho might listen to him if he just confessed. It was foolish to think that maybe he would give Jinwoo the chance to explain. It was foolish to wait for him to pass judgement when Jinwoo could have ended it earlier. 

Without harming Minho. 

_ “Is there anything you would ask of me that I can give you?”  _

“I wish…” Jinwoo pressed his lips together. He closed his eyes. The tears that he was used to shedding in silence poured out. 

It was too late for that. 

If only it was different. What if Jinwoo told Minho the truth the night before? Would he have been spared? 

It didn’t matter any longer.

The contempt in Minho’s eyes was enough to confirm. There was no forgiveness for Jinwoo. Only death. 

He reached up and pulled the stick that secured his hair. It was given to him by his uncle, which actually concealed a poisoned blade. Something he was supposed to use to kill Minho. Then it was Jinwoo’s choice to end his life or be executed by the king’s men or his uncle’s. 

It was all the same outcome. 

He unscrewed the modestly jeweled end of the stick with shaking hands. The blade was still as sharp and graceful as he remembered. 

He pressed the tip to the inside of his wrist, not yet puncturing skin, just feeling the coldness of the metal. 

He thought of the way Minho held his hands before, how he warmed Jinwoo to his very soul. The way his eyes looked at him as if only the two of them existed. As if he existed. 

The last two weeks of his miserable life were the most difficult yet they were also the happiest. 

“I wish it was different.” 

He clenched his jaw to prevent himself from crying out when the blade sank into his flesh. 

It hurt. It hurt so much. 

He held his breath as he dragged the blade along his vein until his fingers couldn’t hold the blade anymore. 

The chill of the floor seeped into him as warmth slowly drained out of his body.

*

It was the elderly maidservant that came to him weeping, begging to be heard at the risk of her own life. 

“Your highness. Please. I beseech you.” She prostrated herself, her gray braid touching the ground. “I am a worthless servant, but please—“ 

She told him about the uncle. How he plotted to kill his own brother and his heir and keep Joohyun alive. His men killed her by accident and Jinwoo survived. Joohyun was supposed to marry the king, and place him in a position of power. But when that did not happen, he raised Jinwoo as Joohyun instead. 

This time his ploy was to kill the king and take the throne for himself. He was going to pass it off as Jinwoo wanting to exact revenge for his slain family, because of the rebels the previous king before Minho’s father angered. 

She told him of all the hardships Jinwoo endured. The debasement he received that did not befit someone of his station. She told him of the multiple beatings he got and how his uncle broke both of Jinwoo’s legs so he would stop escaping. 

“He would cry at night when he thought no one would hear him but his cats.” 

Minho rubbed his chest, the pain there never easing one bit. 

“I beg of you to spare him, but if it is your will to end his life, your highness,” The old woman’s tears wet the floor. “Please do it swiftly. He has suffered enough. This life spared no mercy for him.” 

*

He had his men interrogate the uncle until he was ultimately executed. Same with all the ones who aided him in perpetrating what would have been Minho’s assassination. His men caught them lurking around the household ready to attack. 

His men also found the bodies of Jinwoo’s cats, poisoned. They assumed that the cats would alert Minho of their presence as the sensitive creatures were restless when there was something amiss so the uncle had them killed. 

The night was rife with struggle and death but they were able to subdue them. 

Minho sat in the master chamber, looking at the bridal robes that were still piled on the floor. The words of the maidservant lingering in his head, he remembered Jinwoo’s shame when Minho ripped the robes off him. An uncomfortable feeling started burning in his guts. 

Was he just a victim in all of this or was he a willing accomplice? The more he thought about it the more he realized that Jinwoo did not have a choice in this situation. Just the abuse that he was subjected to was enough to break anyone’s will. 

Minho sighed, rubbing his eyes, regret suffusing him as he recalled Jinwoo’s white face that was frightened of him. 

Was any of it real? His shyness, his smiles… the love he showed Minho. Was it all a ruse? 

Did Minho imagine the affection that Jinwoo gave him? Was that all pretend? 

He found himself walking to the dungeons, his man that was posted there bowing to him in deference. 

The walk to Jinwoo's cell was eerily quiet, the hairs on the back of his neck tingled. 

He saw his figure huddled on the straw mat provided for prisoners. It was thin and did not really offer much protection from the cold. Jinwoo looked so small, facing the wall like that. Minho unlatched the cell door, the creaking sound not getting a reaction from him. 

The cell was illuminated by a small sliver of moonlight coming from the small slit on the wall. 

Minho's eyes adjusted to the darkness and fell to his knees. 

The metallic scent of blood was unmistakable. He brought Jinwoo's body to his own, limp and cold. He clutched his wrist tightly where the blood still sluggishly flowed, doing everything in his power to stop it. 

"Jiwon!" He bellowed for the captain of his men. 

He rocked them, as if comforting Jinwoo who was motionless in his hold, his breath barely there. 

"Jinwoo. Please. Please." He whispered desperately to the cold temple that rested on Minho's jaw. Nothing. 

Red was such a shocking color that painted harshly on Jinwoo's white cloth, but all Minho could see was the dark bruise that marred Jinwoo's cheek.

A mark that Minho left there. He held Jinwoo tighter.

Jinwoo was quiet. 

*

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/usmarchioness?s=09)


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